The Heart of a Champion
by lafiametta
Summary: AU. How do you keep a relationship with one of the NFL's most explosive offensive linemen under wraps? How do you keep it secret from your boss, his former lover and co-owner of the team, who would certainly find a way to fire you and trade him if she ever found out? And most importantly, how will you possibly keep yourself from falling head over heels for him?


**A/N: I'm surprised that there don't seem to be many (or even any) Spartacus Football AUs already out there, as it seems to be such a perfect setting for a modern story... so consider this my humble contribution!**

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 _"The Gladiators are third and twenty on their own forty-seven yard line with just eight minutes left to play. They might need some divine intervention here if they're hoping to make it off this field and into the playoff rounds."_

Even listening closely, Naevia could barely hear the voice of the announcer through the babble of voices all around her. The owner's box was overflowing with guests this afternoon: politicians, hedge fund managers, corporate executives, and even a country music star she had only ever seen on the cover of Us Weekly in the wake of his scandalous divorce. All of them had come at the invitation of the co-owners of the team: Lucretia and Quintus Batiatus, a couple who made no secret of their ambitions, who seemed to take it in with the very air they breathed.

At present, the two of them were knee-deep in conversation with the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company, one that, Naevia knew, having been privy to many discussions between husband and wife, currently had an unfilled seat on its board of directors. She was only a personal assistant, paid to make phone calls and send emails, fetch coffee and dry-cleaning and deal with the never-ending list of Lucretia's demands, but even Naevia could guess that soon enough, the empty seat on the board would be occupied by Quintus Batiatus, sporting a smile of triumph. Positions on other boards – other organizations, other foundations – would undoubtedly follow, providing additional steps up the ladder of their ascent.

With the two of them so engrossed, she was able to turn her attention back to the words of the announcer, her gaze flicking up towards the flat screen television on the wall just over her shoulder. The game was almost over and they were down by only four points, a situation they needed to do something about quickly if they had any hopes for the playoffs or even – gods willing – a Super Bowl championship. The camera quickly panned over the field to show the head coach, Oenomaus, pacing the sidelines, before it focused in on the players taking their position along the line of scrimmage.

For a few seconds they were motionless, the only movement the quarterback's head swiveling up and down the line as he inaudibly called the play, and Naevia felt her own breath stilled within her body.

 _"And there's the snap... Spartacus falls back... he's looking for an opening... he fires deep... it's high... CAUGHT by Barca! He keeps his legs moving… at the twenty… at the ten… it looks like… it's a TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN GLADIATORS!"_

The whole suite erupted in screams and cheers of excitement, a thunderous sound that shook Naevia's ears even as she found herself grinning madly. And for a moment, she let her thoughts turn to him, wondering what he was feeling right now, and guessing that despite the bruises and aching muscles, he would definitely be in a mood to celebrate tonight.

They couldn't go anywhere public, of course, and risk being seen together. But it would be enough simply to be together, to share this moment of victory with him, even if it just meant ordering takeout and curling up on her sofa, and after the night grew late, finally falling asleep in the warmth of each other's arms. In the morning, he would leave, as he always did, and aside from a trail of late-night texts and the occasional exchange of glances at a press event, there would be no evidence that she and Crixus were anything at all to each other.

It wasn't just that she was a personal assistant and he was a football player, a former Heisman runner-up and arguably the best offensive guard in the league, although that alone would have raised some eyebrows.

It was Lucretia, her boss – and his former lover.

Their relationship had ended almost a year ago, but that didn't stop Lucretia from flying into jealous rages whenever she read some bit of online gossip linking Crixus to other women. Naevia could almost smirk, knowing how _very_ wrong those stories were, but that feeling turned dark with fear once she realized that Lucretia would have her head if she ever learned the truth about Naevia's relationship with Crixus. Just firing her wouldn't be enough; Lucretia knew enough people that she would never work in this industry again. As for Crixus, he could easily be traded to another city and another team, simply for the crime of spurning Lucretia for another woman.

The irony was that it was Lucretia who had brought them together in the first place. She had often summoned Crixus to her office for their assignations, leaving Naevia to awkwardly close the door behind her as she left the two of them alone. And when instructed, Naevia would text Crixus from Lucretia's phone, setting up hotel rooms and private dinner dates. Until one night, after trying to cancel a dinner on Lucretia's behalf and getting no response, she showed up at the restaurant herself, hoping to find him before he left. She hadn't meant anything by it – she just didn't want him upset at Lucretia for standing him up, and for Lucretia to lash out at _her_ in response – but to her surprise, he had asked her to stay and have dinner with him. And as he stood up and pulled out the chair for her to sit, she could feel the fluttering of her heart in her chest, knowing that this was a terrible idea, but somehow unable to make herself leave. It didn't help, the way he was looking at her, his dark eyes so unexpectedly soft against the sharpness of his features.

He was about to leave Lucretia, he confessed to her that night, and as he walked her to her car, he had asked if, once he had made the separation final, he could call her sometime.

She had put his number into her phone, designating the contact only as "C."

Some days, Naevia wondered how long they were going to be able to keep this up before it all came crashing down around them. But she wouldn't give him up – she couldn't – and somehow all their difficulties were easily forgotten in those hours of the night they had each other, when he kissed her with more gentleness than she would have expected from a man of his size, when he held her, enveloping her in his warmth, when their bodies were locked together in needful desire, a place where she harbored neither doubt nor fear. Soon enough, she hoped, the day would come when they wouldn't have to hide their relationship, although she had no idea when that might be.

The crowd in the owner's box was still flush with exhilaration over the touchdown – she glanced over to see a bright-eyed Lucretia and Quintus joyously clasping the shoulder of one of their guests – but even in the din, she could still hear the voice of the announcer, his tone a touch more serious than it had been just moments ago.

 _"Hold on, folks… looks like we've got a man down on the line of scrimmage…"_

Naevia turned back to the screen, watching as the camera narrowed its gaze at the huddle of uniformed men on the middle of the field.

 _"On the offensive line, number sixty-five, Crixus… he is down and he does not seem to be moving… let's look at the replay…"_

Her heart was in her throat as the replay began, offering a close-up of the offensive and defensive lines as they moved in artful slow-motion. There was the snap, as Varro directed the ball to Spartacus, and then Spartacus dropped back, stepping up into the pocket formed by the five offensive linemen. But her eyes were only on one man, the one nearest to Varro, the one engaged in rough combat with a hulking member of the other team's defensive line. His image had been lost earlier, when the camera followed the pass to Barca and the touchdown that followed, but now she could see – in painstaking slowness – that his opponent was pressing his advantage, and with one violent churn against Crixus's side, was able to hurl him forcefully towards the ground.

It took all she had not to run towards the wide windows that looked out onto the field, just so she could see him, with her own eyes, even from so far a distance. But as the replay ended and the screen returned to live feed of the game, she was finally able to take a much-needed breath: Crixus was slowly sitting up and shaking his head a little, his hand soon grasped around Spartacus's as his teammate hauled him up from the ground.

 _"So a bit of a false alarm… looks like he just got the wind knocked out of him for a bit… and now he's being walked off the field, I'm guessing for the remainder of the game… but if this team can hold on for another eight minutes, they're going to be headed for a playoff spot next week…"_

The kicker ran out onto the field – a reminder that there was still another point in play – but Naevia could only watch as Crixus was gingerly assisted to the sidelines by two of the team's trainers.

She couldn't see his face any longer, now that he was off-camera, but she was certain it was a potent mixture of elation and anger, the excitement of being that much closer to his goal of another championship ring, mixed with frustration and rage that he was being kept from helping to achieve it.

When it came to Crixus and the game, Naevia faced her own struggle: she loved watching him play and she hated watching him play. He never seemed more alive than when he stepped onto the field with his teammates, but she couldn't stand to see him hurt, not in the punishing, brutal ways that this sport so often encouraged. She didn't even want to think about how bad the bruises were going to be this time, after that last tackle.

The rest of the game passed uneventfully, the defense able to hold off their opponents until the clock ran down on the final, unsuccessful play. There were more raucous cheers and congratulations from the occupants of the owner's box, a chaotic buoyancy in the air due not only to the Gladiators' victory but also – she had little doubt – to the large number of empty wine glasses and beer bottles littering the tables.

Soon enough, though, the owner's box began to empty, departures marked with smiles and handshakes and extended invitations from Quintus and Lucretia to come back again and partake of their hospitality. Naevia waited a reasonable time before she pulled out her phone – long enough, she guessed, for him to have stripped off his uniform and showered – and while still keeping a steady eye on Lucretia's flaming red hair, typed out a short message.

 _are you ok? that hit looked bad_

She had barely had time to slip her phone back into her pocket before she felt it vibrate.

 **not 2 bad, had worse**

 **come dwnstairs & c 4 urself :)**

She bit her lips together to repress a smile. Crixus wasn't normally an emoji kind of guy, so she could only assume that his attempt at digital flirtation meant that he was in a good mood, or at least a better one than she thought he'd be in. And she was fairly surprised he had invited her down to the locker room; she had been down into the depths of the stadium a few times before – Lucretia always dragged her into all sorts of places – but he had never once asked Naevia to come, especially not by herself. It was risky, as she had no real reason to be visiting, but it was a risk she was willing to take, just to be able to see him and know he wasn't hurt too badly. She didn't wait long before replying.

 _ok, be there soon_

It took a little while to fully extract herself from Lucretia's grasp – she had to swear up and down to be in before eight the next morning so that they could discuss the coming week's plans and all the preparations for the playoff game – but before long, she was headed down the elevators towards the bottom floors of the arena.

There weren't that many people left, as most of the players had already changed and headed to the parking lot, and after a fruitless search of the locker room and the offices, she finally flagged down a young trainer and asked him where she might find Crixus. She was careful, as always, to claim she was there on business for Lucretia. The trainer was able to point her in the direction of the physiotherapy room, and after a long sweep of her gaze to both ends of the hallway – thankfully empty – she slipped past the door.

Inside the florescent-lit room, she could see half a dozen padded physio tables, although, from the sight of it, only one seemed to be in use. He was laying on his back, calves dangling off the end of the table, wearing nothing but a plain white towel that was wrapped around his hips.

"You're a hard man to find," she said, purposefully loud enough to startle him.

But as he raised himself up onto his elbows, he was grinning. "You found me, though."

She pursed her lips, nodding in the direction of his torso, marveling for a moment at the ripple of pectoral muscle on display. "So are you going to let me see how it looks?" she asked, her cheeks growing warm.

"I'm a man of my word," he said. "But first, why don't you lock the door?"

"Why?"

His lips curled in a wicked half-grin. "I'd hate for us to be interrupted."

Naevia rolled her eyes at him – mostly just to have something to do besides stare at his bare chest – and reached behind her to turn the deadbolt. The sharp sound of it, though, was strangely electric, and she could feel her body stirring with the thought of being entirely alone with him, in a locked room, with little danger of discovery.

He sat up as she approached, and what she saw in the light transformed whatever excitement she might have been feeling into immediate concern. There were small abrasions along his arms – that wasn't out of the ordinary – but spread across his right side, from ribcage to hipbone, was a flowering bruise of purple and blue, the mass of it circled by sickly yellow.

"Gods, Crixus, that looks terrible," she said, coming closer to stand between his knees as she gazed down at his injury. Instinctively, she reached her hand out to touch it, before pulling back in realization that it would only hurt him more. Letting her hand drop down to his thigh, she noticed there were bruises there as well, not as bad as the one on his side, but unpleasant-looking all the same.

Her gaze flashed up to meet his, his expression tempered by acceptance and perhaps the barest hint of pride.

"He made the pass," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. His hands quietly found her hips and pulled her in a bit closer. "We got the touchdown."

"You did," Naevia answered, a little breathlessly. His hands were so warm, even through the fabric of her skirt.

"And we're going to the playoffs." Thumbs began to graze back and forth even as his grip tightened ever so slightly, his touch the perfect combination of gentle and rough. "We're going to be champions again, I can feel it."

She tilted her head, eyes fixed on his. "I'm not sure how you can feel anything, covered in bruises like that," she teased.

A dark eyebrow cocked up in response. "Bruises fade," he said. "Glory is forever."

"And _that's_ why you keep doing this to yourself?" she huffed out in half-hearted exasperation. "For glory?"

They had had this conversation so many times already that she was hesitant about bringing it up again. He knew she worried about him, about the toll this game was taking on him – maybe in ways he wasn't even aware of – and she knew how much devotion he felt towards this team, a team he was determined to make into champions once more. It had been three years since they won their last ring, and even with fresh blood like Spartacus and Varro, they had struggled through this season. Despite Crixus's brash confidence, it was unclear that they would be able to achieve victory again.

"Partly," he shrugged.

"Partly?"

"I like thinking of you up there in the box, watching me during the game." He reached up and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the curl of his mouth began to turn into an easy smile. His eyes crinkled, a tiny, boyish dimple etched into the corner of his grin. "And when we win, the first thing I think of is you."

Naevia pressed her lips together, unable to fully conceal the warmth rising into her cheeks as they rounded with pleasure. When Crixus talked like that, she never knew quite what to say – because how could she tell him that felt exactly the same, that when he was on the field her mind was equally occupied with thoughts of him? – and so she settled for speaking in a way she knew he would understand, a way that had no need for words and all their complications. Her hands soon found their way up over his broad shoulders and curled around his neck, brushing against the soft prickle of his close-cropped hair.

She was so caught up in the feel of him that she barely noticed how he had slowly inched forward on the table, catching her hips between his powerful thighs.

He leaned in and kissed her hungrily, without prelude, a mixture of possessiveness and desire that she knew well by now, aided by the heady aphrodisiac of victory on the field. But she had a hunger of her own to match – it felt like ages since they had been together, though she knew it had only been a few days – and she clutched at him, pressing her body closer to his, as her mouth opened to his in feverish invitation.

His hands were at her waist, rucking the fabric of her blouse upwards, and she shivered when the warmth of his palms found her bare skin. A soft moan – barely more than a sigh – escaped Naevia's lips and she felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, no doubt one of satisfaction. Pressing his advantage, Crixus traced a line of kisses along her jaw and the curve of her neck, finding just the right place to lavish his attentions. All thoughts emptied themselves from her mind; she was dizzy, wonderfully dazed, heat flushing in her chest and arms, molten warmth pooling in the depths of her belly.

From behind her the staticky feedback of a walkie-talkie suddenly flared, the sound of it muffled through the concrete walls, followed quickly by the rattling of the door handle – but only for a moment, as if whoever was on the other side was checking that everything was locked up. It was just a security guard, Naevia realized, even though she had been startled enough to pull away from Crixus's grasp, her hands quickly smoothing her blouse and her skirt back into place.

"Sorry," she murmured, flashing him a chagrined smile and dropping her hands back onto his thighs by way of apology. "It's just… are you sure no one will find us here?"

The last thing she wanted was for someone to walk in on the two of them and then for the rumors to start flying. They had been so good at being discreet; how ridiculous would it be if this was the way they were found out?

His expression had turned serious, two tiny lines etched between his eyebrows.

"Listen, Naevia…" He let out a rough, wearied breath, a sound that was making her slightly nervous about what he was going to say next. "Don't you get tired of this? All the running around and the secrecy?"

She nodded. "Of course…" she said, slowly letting her gaze drop away from his, to a place somewhere down by her feet. "But I don't know what else we can do."

"I do."

She didn't understand what he was getting at. Was he saying that he was tired of all of this? Was he saying he was tired of _her_? Was this the point where he told her that it wasn't really worth it, everything they went through to be together? She couldn't really believe it – not with the way he acted when they were together, as if his heart belonged to her alone – but then again, Crixus could have just about anyone he wanted, and maybe what he really wanted was someone who would offer fewer complications.

"What?" she finally heard herself reply.

His hands softly curled around her waist before finally clasping together at the small of her back.

"You could move in with me."

Naevia quickly glanced up at him, looking for some confirmation that she had just hallucinated his last statement. She couldn't find it.

"Are you joking?" she stammered. "Because you shouldn't… joke… about that."

"I'm serious." As he pulled her in a little tighter, his dark eyes were full of warmth – and something else she didn't dare put a name to. "Move in with me."

For a moment, she let herself imagine it: coming home each day to his house with its gleaming kitchen and wide windows that took in the bright lights of the city. Seeing her clothes neatly hung across from his in the closet. Watching cheesy action movies with him in the dark coziness of the living room. Waking up next to him every morning and luxuriating in the knowledge that this was where they both belonged. They hadn't ever really talked much about serious feelings, about a future, only focusing on the present and the all too-brief moments they could be together. But everything she had just imagined, it was so beautiful and so heart-breaking, because it wasn't really possible – was it? It couldn't be as easy as that. Because being open about their relationship could have serious consequences for him, and definitely would for her, once her boss found out.

"What about Lucretia?" she asked.

"Fuck Lucretia," he scoffed. "You hate that job anyway."

His assessment, though bluntly stated, wasn't so far off the mark. Even on her best days, Lucretia would never be in the running for the World's Best Boss award, and on her worst days, she was essentially a nightmare in human form. The only real reason Naevia hadn't quit in frustration was because working for the team's owner meant she got to be closer to Crixus. But if they were living together, she would get to see him every day – and she would avoid having to deal with Lucretia at all.

But there was an obvious downside: no Lucretia, no spot to watch the game from the owner's box.

"I wouldn't get to see you play any more," she said, slightly disappointed at the prospect, as her hands once more wound over his shoulders.

"Maybe not from the box…" he replied. "But there are other places you can watch from. Maybe right next to Sura and Aurelia and Pietros…"

Naevia stilled in realization. He was offering her a seat in the section with all the wives and girlfriends – or boyfriends, in the case of Pietros – a move that would indicate to everyone with eyes to see that the two of them were together, an established couple. Crixus didn't just want to stop hiding what they were to each other, but to make it as public a declaration as possible.

"I'll get you a jersey with my number to wear," he murmured roughly, his palms spanning across her lower back. "One a little smaller, in your size."

Looking at him now – with the smile slowly unfurling along his mouth, with the way his eyes were lighting up as he pictured her up in the stands, openly cheering him on – it was clear how intensely happy the thought was making him. And it wasn't just him: her heart was beating in a song, fierce and sweet and near full to bursting.

But she couldn't let herself get swept away entirely by his enthusiasm, regardless of the very real temptation to do just that. There were still dangers – and ultimately there was more than just her job at stake.

"But what about you?" she asked, her wide gaze trained steadily on him. "Lucretia'll have it out for you as soon as she finds out…"

Crixus shook his head, a confident chuckle warm upon his lips. "They won't trade me, not after we bring home the championship."

He was right, she realized. Regardless of Lucretia's rage, no owners in their right minds would trade a member of a team coming off a Super Bowl win. The media would go crazy, bloggers and online commenters offering wild theories as to what had happened behind closed doors, and nobody wanted that kind of publicity. The coaches and the players would certainly protest such a move, their voices made stronger by their victory on the field. Even Spartacus, who had butted heads with Crixus on and off the field for most of his first season, would oppose it.

"So you've got it all figured out, hmm?" Her fingertips traced along his skin, curling around the wide column of his neck. "All you need to do is win the Super Bowl."

She raised her eyebrows teasingly, as if what he was describing was just as simple as paying his phone bill or taking his car in for an oil change.

"I told you," he grinned, "I can feel it."

He pulled her in towards him, their bodies nearly touching, his forehead gently pressing against hers. With his arms wrapped around her like that, his breath warm like a whisper on her skin, it was hard to concentrate – and she desperately needed to concentrate, now that she realized he was still waiting for a response to his offer.

"C'mon, say yes," he murmured, as his lips softly found the corner of her mouth. "We'll win the Super Bowl, and then you'll move in with me." He stilled, his voice like a rough, quiet plea, a sound that was breaking her heart and remaking it all at once. "Say yes."

What he was asking her, it would change everything, for both of them. The thought of it was exhilarating, and slightly terrifying, for all that it was a step into the unknown. And she was so used to being cautious, being sensible, never asking for more than she was given. She hadn't ever really allowed herself to think there could be more.

But she wanted it, she realized. She wanted more. She wanted everything.

There was no way to contain it, the overwhelming need that was coursing through her, not that she would have even made the attempt. She moved even closer, urgently seeking out his mouth with her own, the warmth between them quickly blossoming into heat. His arms, like rippling bands of steel, still encircled her, but even so, she found herself pressing him down against the padded surface of the table until he was almost on his back, a position he didn't seem to mind at all. Mindful of the tender bruise that stretched along his side, Naevia climbed on top of the table, her knees on either side of his hips.

The hem of her blouse was in her hands, needing little more than a short upwards tug before it came free of her hair and was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. He pulled her down on top of him, the path of his hands like licks of flame against her bare skin.

At that moment, nothing else mattered – not the team, not her job, not Lucretia, not even the promise of a championship ring. Nothing mattered but the two of them, their bodies entwined, having only each other.

"Yes," she finally whispered, her lips along the edge of his jaw. And then there was no need for words at all.


End file.
